


Facade

by StrictlyNoFrills



Series: Polar Drabbles and Shorts [4]
Category: Roswell (TV 1999)
Genre: F/M, Set after The End of the World, Set before The Dupes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrictlyNoFrills/pseuds/StrictlyNoFrills
Summary: She’s so tired of being the strong one all the time, and what Michael is suggesting isn’t helping.
Relationships: pre-Michael Guerin/Liz Parker
Series: Polar Drabbles and Shorts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420768
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Facade

“Yeah, that’s, like, never gonna happen,” Liz said, eyeing the helmet Michael held out as she would a dead rat, and wishing Maria had been on the closing shift with her tonight instead of helping her mom with her shop inventory.

“Come on, Parker. Would I let anything happen to you? If Max didn’t kill me, Maria definitely would. Just put on the helmet and hop on. We’re gonna be late.”

Frankly, Liz would rather not show up at the meeting at all if it meant she could avoid riding behind Michael on his motorcycle. Visions of her apoplectic father danced through her head, and she shook it shakily.

“Michael, no. Let’s, um. Let’s just call Kyle. He may not have left yet.” It was unlikely, but still.

Michael raised unimpressed eyebrows. “Sure. Because you showing up with Kyle won’t set Max off at all.”

Liz closed her eyes, prayed for patience, and took a long, deep breath. Why had she ever pretended to sleep with Kyle? Why couldn’t she have come up with something she would not have to keep paying for months later? Surely there had to have been something. Some alternative she had felt too stressed out to think of at the time.

“Fine,” she said, resigned and a bit resentful over it.

“Finally,” Michael griped as she stepped close enough to accept the plain, shiny black helmet, clean more from disuse than care.

She put it between her knees and then put her hair in a French braid, her fingers going through the motions quickly. When she tied off the plait, she pulled the helmet on and then stiffly clambered onto the bike, throwing her arms tight around Michael’s waist.

“Ready?” Michael asked, sounding more dutiful than concerned.

She squeezed his sides instead of answering verbally, her heart already blocking her throat.

Seconds later, they were off, flying through the desert and towards their meeting place.

Liz closed her eyes and held on, and tried to ignore the other problem inherent in this mode of transportation. She could feel him, even through the layers of his leather jacket. Could feel his loosely coiled power. He was like a jungle cat, all languid grace and effortless strength.

It was disturbing. It was wrong to even think such things about her best friend’s boyfriend, no matter how off-again-on-again volatile their relationship might be.

 _It doesn’t mean anything,_ she told herself, in the same way she had been forced to every other time her mind had wandered into dangerous territory over the past few weeks. _It doesn’t mean anything, and eventually, if you ignore them, these feelings will just go away._

She hated how much the words sounded like a lie, even within the confines of her own head, and she hated herself for clutching Michael just a little bit closer. But she didn’t hate herself enough to loosen her grasp.

When they stopped a little ways off from where the others had already gathered, Liz had to wait a few beats before she could pull away and dismount to stand on shaking legs.

“You good, Parker?” her riding partner asked brusquely.

“Um, yeah,” she said, her voice sounding strange in her ears. “I think so.”

He studied her for a moment, likely seeing more than she would prefer, and then he scratched his eyebrow and shrugged. “Then let’s go.”

His long legs started eating up the distance between him and the rest of their group with ease, and Liz stared after him for a hopeless minute before shaking herself and scurrying to follow in his much larger steps.

 _Smooth, Liz. Really smooth._

As she drew closer to Alex, the one furthest from the others, she carefully shoved her traitorous thoughts to the back of her mind, ready to focus on the latest alien crisis.

Good old, dependable Liz. That was who she had to be, at all times, to all people. 

She caught sight of whiskey eyes examining her from across their haphazard circle and did her best to break eye contact casually.

Calm. Steady. No stress. Just logic and reassurance. That was what they expected from her, and that was what they would get.

It didn’t matter that she felt scattered and anxious and ill-fitting in her own skin. It didn’t matter that she felt pulled towards the boy leaning against a rock formation across the way, his arm thrown casually around her childhood friend.

She had a role to play, and so play it she would. 

She leaned against her other best friend, searching for a bit of familiar comfort, and felt her lips twitch into a faint, grateful smile when he wrapped his arm around her side and accommodated her weight. She wasn’t entirely alone. She could do this.

No matter how much it hurt.


End file.
